Poor and Tired, but More Than This
by BluAlbino
Summary: Under a Siren’s spell, Dean’s done things he’s not proud of, including killing his own brother. How can he deal with them after he’s released? Dean/Nick, eventual Dean/Castiel
1. You Give Love a Bad Name

**A/N: **In order for the beginning to make any sense whatsoever, you must understand my theory of Siren love. Siren saliva is like a slow moving drug that makes whoever has it in their system obsessed with the Siren, making them do whatever they think will make the Siren happy. Also, everything else becomes secondary to the Siren, including the Siren lover's own needs/wants/morals. If Dean has Nick's spit in his pipes, then he'll do whatever Nick says, regardless of whither he wants to do it or not. Got it? Good. In my twisted little mind, Siren poison is the Supernatural equivalent of heroin, and if that squicks you in the slightest, I won't be angry of you press the back button.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, title taken from The Killers

__

Nick told him to get rid of his necklace. The little golden amulet that had hung from Dean's neck as long as he could remember.

Dean threw it by the side of the road without a second glance.

___

Dean was covered in little droplets of blood. Dark red freckles to match the light brown ones he already had. Killing was never his favorite thing, but he would do it for love.

The love of his Nick.

It had to have been about the tenth kill he'd made for Nick, though he'd tried to lose count before. Dean leaned his forehead on the cool tile wall of the shower, and let the hot water slide over his back. He closed his eyes, so he could miss when the water turned that eerie pinkish shade.

It had been a girl this time. Some girl from a club that had been hitting on Dean.

Nick never had been one to share.

___

The Impala had a dent in it, again. This time from Nick getting them chased by a police car and, cackling like a cartoon villain, attempting to drive it into a ditch. Thankfully, the cop car had lost them at the last second, and Nick decided to keep Dean's baby on the road. They had staked out in an abandoned gas station in the middle of the fucking desert, where everything tasted like dirt and smelled like sand.

The good thing about old gas stations was that they had plenty of equipment. Dean had pretty much everything he needed to take care of his car. The dent was definitely not going to buff out. Dean sighed and started looking for anything that could be used to get his car back into shape. There was a slight breeze.

"What are you doing here, Dean?" deadpanned a voice from behind him.

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," Dean replied, still looking through his supplies. Nick had forbidden him to talk to any angels.

"Dean," Castiel said warningly. "I will stop you."

"Are you threatening him?" Dean asked coldly, his hand wrapping around a crowbar.

"I am." Fast as he could, Dean turned, aiming the crowbar at Castiel's head. No one threatened his Nick. The angel stopped the metal bar one handedly, just before it hit his temple.

Their eyes locked, the angel staring impassively back at Dean. And then, faster than humanly possible, because Castiel _wasn't_ human, the angel's hand snaked out and tapped Dean's forehead lightly.

Everything went black.

___

Dreaming, Dean saw what happened. Or maybe not exactly what happened, but he definitely saw something.

Castiel went to Nick in the room they had been sharing at the back of the gas station. Nick was sleeping on an under inflated air mattress in the corner. In his head, somehow both standing next to them and hovering above them at the same time, Dean tried to warn Nick.

"Siren," Castiel growled. Nick stretched, groggily waking himself up. He had always slept in later than Dean, something he found both annoying and oddly endearing at the same time.

"Dean?" Nick asked muzzily. He propped himself up on his arms and flexed before opening his eyes.

"You will release him," Castiel ordered, his voice filled with a wrath that Dean hadn't really thought possible before that point. Holy wrath.

"And if I don't?" Nick snarked, waking fast in the presence of a threat, it came naturally to him, a damn good ability to have, in Dean's book. Though he also seemed to share Dean's inability to stop being a cocky bastard at inappropriate times. Angels waking you up with seemingly full intent to smite being a damn good time to show some respect.

Respect that Dean was going to have to teach him after this. If there was an after.

"I will destroy you," Castiel said, and it was the destroy part that scared the shit out of Dean. Like the word _kill_ was too small to describe what the angel was going to do to his Nick.

Nick smiled. "I dare you." The corner of Castiel's mouth twitched upwards, almost too fast for Dean to see it. Castiel stepped forward, calmly, but with an edge of repressed anger, a storm about to break over the room. Nick grinned, not even getting off the bed. Cocky as ever.

Dean wanted to scream at him, make Nick run the fuck away and hole up somewhere that no one could find him.

"He won't thank you, y'know," Nick said, making Castiel pause. "Even if I die, he'll still love me."

Castiel took the last few steps between him and Nick.

"Dean is sleeping. Stalling will not make him come for you."

The grin slipped off Nick's face, leaving his expression blank and terrified. Slowly, ever so fucking slowly, Castiel put his palm on Nick's forehead, letting his long fingers rest in his hair.

"It won't stop," Nick said. He was panicking, Dean could tell just from his tone. "He'll never stop loving me."

Castiel didn't seem to care.

Dean's limited dream vision whited out when Nick, his Nick, started screaming.

___

He woke up later. Hours, minutes, days, he had no clue. Just, later.

For the first few seconds all Dean felt was a mild, sleepy confusion at waking up on the side of the road with dirt in his mouth, then he remembered Castiel. Castiel threatening Dean's Nick. His stomach plummeted to somewhere around his ankles.

"Nick!" Dean called, climbing to his feet and hightailing it to that room at the back of the gas station where they had been sleeping.

The door was open. Nick couldn't sleep with the door open.

His Nick was laying on the mostly deflated air mattress, eyes closed. He didn't look so hot.

"Nick," Dean said again, softer. He couldn't remember ever feeling as scared as he had right then, it made him feel like a kid again. A five year old, waiting to see if the love of his life would open his eyes. "Nick, wake up."

Nothing.

Dean knelt on the bed, his weight pushing Nick up a few inches as the air in the mattress compressed. His head moved, tipping to the right in a loose, boneless way that made Dean want to puke. He reached out his hand, the hand that wanted to shake and was only stopped by sheer stubborn force of will, and pressed his first to fingers to Nick's neck. No pulse.

Dean withdrew his hand and pushed it through his hair. No pulse, but that didn't have to mean anything. Sometimes pulses were hard to find, forget about a lifetime of patching up people after hunts. Dean didn't even believe that in his own head.

Nick's lips were pressed together, Nick always slept with his mouth open.

Nick wasn't sleeping.

___

After more or less three hours of Dean kneeling at Nick's side, then sitting on the air mattress, just a deflated tarp on the hard floor, to fitfully dozing, Castiel came back. Dean wasn't even aware of him at first, being in the middle of one of his headaches. One of the slow pounding migraines that he got when he was away from his Nick for too long, headaches that were always banished by Nick's long kisses that made his lips numb.

"Dean," Castiel said, announcing his presence with that single syllable.

"Fuck off," Dean growled. The angel should show up later, when Dean was in the right condition to kill him. Kill him for killing his Nick.

"Dean, you have work to do." Dean had no choice but to laugh at that, even though it felt like two chunks of his brain were grinding together.

"I don't work for you," Dean said, holding his hand on his forehead to stop it from exploding. "I'm not yours." He took his hand off his forehead and screwed his eyes shut, rolling up his right sleeve. On his shoulder was Castiel's mark, and over it was Nick's, a thick white scar made with a kitchen knife, while Dean had sat as still as he could and Nick whispered in his ear.

"_You're mine, Dean."_

"I'm not yours."

"You _are _the Lord's." Dean laughed again, his head splitting.

___

Nick was changing. Of course, Dean knew that Nick wasn't human, it just hadn't seemed to matter until Dean started to see it. First his Nick's lips turned from pink to a decayed looking brown. There were matching circles around his eyes, and his ribs were starting to show through his skin. Whatever his Nick really looked like, it looked long dead. Wasn't that just hysterical?

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Dean pulled himself to his feet, wincing as the sudden movement made his headache increase. He rubbed at where the pain seemed to be focused, right above the bridge of his nose, between his eyes.

He cracked open his eyes and scanned the room, spotting a wrapped sandwich and water bottle in the corner that had definitely not been there before. Castiel had made a peace offering.

Dean left the sandwich, but grabbed the water bottle because he was angry, not stupid. He went outside and sat down leaning against the outside wall of the gas station. Even though he had just slept for what felt like most of his life, he was damn tired. After a brief rest, just long enough for his headache to settle, he made his way over to the Impala. The trunk was unlocked, being in the middle of nowhere like they were.

Dean pulled out the first gun that touched his hand, a sawed off shotgun. He walked back over to the wall and sat, taking a long drink from the water bottle.

The gun wouldn't kill and an angel, but it would hurt. Probably.

___

By the time Dean's eyes were half lidded with sleep and an effort to keep the sandy wind out, Castiel showed up. With a low whoosh he appeared in front of Dean, stepping effortlessly out of thin air.

Dean reflexively shot him where his heart was supposed to be. It didn't seem to faze the angel much, so Dean's next shot took out his left kneecap. Castiel collapsed, landing on his good knee and his palms, leg unable to support him.

"Dean," Castiel growled, staring at him. "You don't want to do this."

"Really?" Dean asked, taking a swig from the half empty water bottle, one hand keeping the gun aimed at Castiel. "Because I think I do." Castiel brought one fist forward, holding it level with his shoulder.

"Do you remember Sam?" Castiel asked. "Your brother?" He opened his fist, and out came a little gold pendant hanging on a black string. "You killed him two weeks ago."

Yeah, Dean remembered it. He killed a tall guy with floppy hair just before his first one of Nick's mind numbing kisses. Then he'd pushed it to the back of his mind with the others.

"Yeah. Your point?"

"Think about it, Dean," Castiel said, staring hypnotically into Dean's eyes. "You raised him. You took care of him. You saved his life countless times."

"Your point?" Dean repeated. Castiel was trying to guilt Dean into sparing him. It wasn't going to work.

"You could get him back." Dean paused.

"What about Nick?"

"The Siren doesn't have a soul. Sam does."

"No deal." Castiel sighed, drawing the necklace back into his fist.

"Think about it, Dean," the angel said, vanishing. There was two bullets left lying on the ground.


	2. Keep On Lovin' You

Dean did think about it.

He thought that if an angel wouldn't make a deal for his Nick's soul -- which definitely existed, no matter what Castiel said -- then a demon would. The nearest crossroad was half a mile away from the gas station, it took five minutes to get there in the Impala.

He emptied all of the fake IDs out of their box save for one, his easily replaceable Woodlands Bureau, an organization that he wasn't entirely sure existed, but the badge looked just official enough to grant him access to a few places and testimonials. Everything he needed was stocked up in the trunk, gathered beforehand. He secured it in the box with a few circles of duct tape, pausing afterwards to lean against the car and close his eyes.

Dean's headache had lasted two days, lulling occasionally but always coming back in blinding full force. It had gone down as Dean drove, the moving horizon calming it to the point of a background pain. Standing upright, however, combined with _walking_ of all things, brought it to the front and center of his mind. He waited until it went down again and, moving slowly, like a man attached to a bomb, he knelt down in the center of the crossroads, the Impala at his back like a silent guardian.

Dean dug his fingers into the dirt, and a tiny breeze blew sand into his eyes. Castiel.

Dean looked up to see the angel standing in front of him, not so much as a speck of dust on his immaculate and, in the desert heat, ridiculous clothes. Castiel was frowning, or at least the forehead wrinkle that passed for a frown on his face.

"What do you want?" Dean growled. Castiel stared at him silently. "If you're not going to help me, then leave."

"I will not help you send yourself back to hell," Castiel said. His voice was more monotone then condemning, but Dean felt it like weights on his shoulders.

"I just want him back," Dean said, looking up at the angel from where he rested on his knees. Castiel's eyes softened. Pity.

"You would sell your soul for a demon?" Castiel asked.

"He's not a demon," Dean said, leaning against the Impala. Castiel lowered his eyes, apparently finding staring at the dirt road preferable to looking Dean in the face when he said those words. Bad move.

Dean's hand crept up the side of the car and reached into the trunk, pulling out a handgun. By the time Castiel looked back up, there was a bullet in this stomach. Castiel sighed, as if to say '_again?' _

The noise kicked Dean's migraine into overdrive, making him screw his eyes shut and clench his jaw against the desire to curl himself into a ball.

"Dean," Castiel said, sounding no worse for the wear despite the hole in his gut. The urge to shoot him again battled with the need to stop his head from tearing itself open. He pressed one hand to his face and concentrated on not letting his gun hand shake.

Castiel stepped towards him.

"I'll shoot."

"Then shoot." Dean stood shakily, leaning on the car for support. Castiel was still walking towards him down the barrel of the gun. Dean fired off another round, the blast echoing in his pounding head. The angel still kept walking, with all the unmovable force of a tank.

Castiel placed his hand on top of the gun and gently pried it out of Dean's grip.

"You can kill me when you're better." If it had been anyone else saying that, Dean would've thought they were being sarcastic. Castiel's fingers tapped his forehead again, and he was out like a light.

___

Dean woke up back at the gas station, almost believing that he had dreamed his trip to the crossroads except for two things. Nick was gone, and Castiel wasn't. The angel was leaning against the far wall, looking directly at Dean in his unnerving way. Though Castiel very obviously knew he was awake, he said nothing, instead closing his own eyes and tilting his head against the wall.

There was a knife by the side of the air mattress. Probably what poked the damn hole in the thing. Dean grabbed it with his right hand, and pushed himself into a crouching stance with his left. As his head hit a higher level of atmosphere, the headache from hell reappeared with unnatural speed. Gritting his teeth, Dean stood tall, clenching the knife at his side.

"Going to stab me again, Dean?" Castiel asked.

"Gonna cut your head off," Dean growled, squinting at the angel through a haze of pain and rage. Castiel didn't move an inch, his eyes staying shut. Growling like an animal, Dean lunged for Castiel, knife held forward. The world slowed down, motions becoming sluggish and blurry.

Castiel's eyes snapped open, and, taking a step forward, he held out his arms.

Like he was going to embrace Dean.

Halfway to his destination, Dean's knees gave out and his head gave a particularly painful pulse. He was going down, with the knife's blade somewhere around the region of his intestines, if he was estimating correctly.

Until Castiel's wiry arms closed around him, pulling him to the angel's chest. He tried to pull away, but his joints were liquid, Castiel's body the only thing holding him up.

"That's the Siren's poison, Dean," Castiel said, dragging Dean awkwardly over to the air mattress. "It's still in your blood, and you will continue to be under it's control until the poison is removed."

"Don't…" Dean said, his words spinning dizzily away from him. Castiel set him down gently, kneeling over Dean to settle his body. "Talk about Nick… like that…"

Castiel fixed him with another blank stare. Suddenly Dean was aware that the knife was still held loosely in his fist, not a good enough hold to kill the angel, but a hold nonetheless. He stabbed at Castiel's neck, his concentration on the act lending him speed. Castiel brought his arm up as a block, the blade scoring off his forearm, leaving only a tear in his coat and a thin cut underneath.

"Sleep," Castiel said, voice endlessly patient. He tapped Dean's forehead, the hunter welcoming oblivion.

___

Dean waking up and yelling for Nick might've been a fever dream. Hopefully it was a fever dream.

Castiel was sitting next to him, legs crossed Indian style. His hand on Dean's forehead, not in an Angel-Fu way, but more like he was checking Dean's temperature. The coolness of his skin made the rest of Dean's body feel even hotter by comparison.

"Cas?" Dean mumbled. The angel loomed over him, close enough for Dean to see that one of his eyes was the slightest bit darker than the other. "Where's Nick?"

Castiel sighed. "He's not here," he said gently.

"Where is he?" Castiel didn't answer, only kept his cool hand on Dean's hot forehead.

"Nick? Nick, where are you?" Dean called. Castiel's eyes slid shut. Dean kept calling out for him, until his throat was sore.

Right before the dream ended, his cries changed from '_Nick_' to '_Sam_'.

___

When he woke for real, Dean felt hungover. The inside of his head still hurt, but it was more of a dull pulse than a migraine. He was sweaty and his tongue felt too big for his mouth.

Next to him on the bed, which had a considerable amount of extra blankets since he had last set eyes on it, was a wrapped sandwich and a water bottle.

Gifts from his own personal guardian angel.

Smirking, Dean sat up and unwrapped the sandwich. Tuna, slightly dry, but not horrible. It made his stomach rumble louder, and Dean wondered why he was so damned hungry. It was like he hadn't eaten in weeks, and Sammy wouldn't let him-

Oh god, he killed Sam.

Sam was dead. Dean killed him.

The first sob stuck in his throat, wrenching his lungs in effort to get out. Dean couldn't breathe, his head was spinning.

He killed Sam.

His chest worked furiously, trying to get oxygen in past the hot tangle of guilt blocking his airway.

He killed Sammy.

Dean buried his face in his hands, feeling breathless and dizzy and like his skin was too tight and too hot and inside out all at the same time. Vaguely aware that he was hyperventilating and that he needed to calm the fuck down if he wanted to stay conscious, Dean screwed his eyes shut.

A cool hand landed on the back of his neck.

Dean's breathing slowed, the cold from Castiel's hand running across his too hot too tight skin. Just like that, whatever barrier that had blocked up his throat dissolved, coming out in tears. Castiel's hand still rested lightly on his neck, cool comfort.

"He's…?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Castiel answered, sitting at Dean's back like a stone wall. His own personal angel statue.

___

Dean's eyes were still puffy and swollen when Castiel forced him to eat. The actual crying had stopped hours before, but that didn't mean Dean had to act normal. Like everything was okay.

It wasn't.

Castiel had stopped explaining around the time Dean stopped crying. When he find out that telling Dean that it was Nick's fault, that the siren was controlling him through poison. That if he had spent a few more days with Nick, it would've been permanent. That didn't matter.

Two weeks and three days. Seventeen days. More than five years in hell.

That's when Castiel showed up with his bottomless trenchcoat pockets full of squishy tuna sandwiches. Dean wasn't biting.

"You need to eat," Castiel said.

"You said you could get him back," Dean replied, staring at the wall. "How."

"Eat, and I'll tell you." That got Dean up, turning over and sitting up shakily to grab a sandwich that he couldn't even think about eating yet. The angel stared him down until he took a single reluctant bite.

"So…" Dean prompted. Castiel sighed.

"I cannot bring him back."

"You said you could," Dean protested.

"No, I said you could _have_ him back," Castiel replied, an odd glitter in his eyes silencing Dean's arguments. "But I cannot bring him back myself. The only way to get him would be for you to go to hell and pull him out."

Dean's blood ran cold. Go _back_ to hell?

"Could I _do_ that?" Dean asked incredulously, because after dragging him out in the first place, Cas cannot seriously be telling him to go _back _to hell. It had to be some sick joke from the angel's malformed sense of humor.

Or not.

"Not alone," Castiel said solemnly, eyes glinting oddly despite his steady voice. "Since you are my charge, I would be forced to follow you." Castiel stared at him, waiting for his answer.

Go back to hell, for Sam. Or stay on Earth without him. That was his choice. The weight of his last stint in hell settled on his tongue, stopping him from immediately agreeing.

Hell. Or Sam. The decision had been easier to make when he didn't know what hell was like. Dean took a deep, steadying breath.

"Alright," Dean said, returning the angel's look. Castiel nodded.


	3. Highway to Hell

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, Dean waited for Castiel to come back so they could leave already. He could see him through the window of a real gas station, with people and food and actual gas, talking to an old woman behind the counter. She was wearing a shawl and a heavy looking cross around her neck. Castiel said something that Dean could only hope was 'goodbye' and she handed him a brown paper bag then patted his cheek in a grandmotherly way.

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed as the angel came back to the car.

"What was that?" he asked, eyeing the bag in Castiel's hand. Castiel set it in his lap. Inside were several of the squishy tuna sandwiches that Dean had been living on for the last few days. He looked at Castiel quizzically.

"I needed to thank her," Castiel said. Dean glanced out the windshield at the old woman, who saw him and waved. He waved back awkwardly, a surprised half smile on his lips. He set the bag down and shifted the Impala into drive, pulling out of the gas station with a full tank and a snack.

After making Dean stay put for two more days, the longest he would stay in that hellhole when he had to get to Sam, just long enough to recuperate and burn the Siren's body. Castiel insisted, in his own odd way, that he couldn't fly them to the gates, but would drive with Dean on the way there. Dean's best guess was that their little road trip wasn't exactly in heaven's master plan, and keeping his feet on the ground was Cas' way of staying off the radar.

So now it was just him and an angel on the awkward car ride to hell, which just so happened to be located in New Jersey. Dean wasn't exactly looking for a reason to go back to the cowboy cemetery in Wyoming, but New Jersey?

"That gate was opened and is now under heavy guard," Castiel had told him, "there is another one, with less obstacles, in Clifton." New Jersey it was.

___

Driving too long made Dean's fingers itch to pop a cassette tape into the radio and break the silence. But every time he did, he looked over at the passenger's side and saw not Sam sitting next to him, but Castiel, who might not have blinked in the last forty miles or so, staring straight forward. He wasn't quite to the music playing stage yet.

___

Checking into a no-tell motel with Cas was definitely the most awkward point of the entire night, especially considering the fact that the chick behind the counter was checking the angel out. Dean didn't know whither to laugh or be mortified when she asked the big question.

"One bed or two?"

"Two," Dean said, handing her Robert Page's credit card. Castiel didn't comment, whither out of politeness or disinterest, Dean wasn't sure.

___

The room was pretty standard motel, clean at first glance but dirty in the corners. Dean flopped onto his bed, exhausted from driving for hours on end without a break. Castiel stood off to the side, looking around the room curiously. Dean twisted on the mattress, reaching for the paper bag with the very last sandwich. He had given one to Castiel in the car, feeling odd to be the only one eating. The angel had eaten the whole thing, chewing slowly and thoughtfully, but declined another. An odd thought struck him as Castiel sat stiffly on the other bed.

"Do you sleep, Cas?" he asked, turning to look at the angel.

"I can," Castiel replied, still taking in the room in all of it's faded glory. "If I must." He said it with a hint of dejection in his tone, like sleeping was a sin of some sort.

Oh, if you didn't actually need to sleep, sloth. Right. Dean chewed in silence, Castiel perched on the other bed.

Dean had been determinedly not thinking all day, but sitting in silence with nothing to distract him wasn't helpful on that front. His mind kept drifting back to Sam, how he killed Sam, killed him in a motel a hell of a lot like this one only with red walls and an axe and-

"Cas," Dean said, cutting off his own thoughts. The angel gave him a questioning look. "Could you… put me to sleep?" It was almost painful to ask, but there was no fucking way he would have been able to get to sleep by himself, he'd lay in the dark thinking about Sam and Nick and that godforsaken axe…

Castiel stood up and walked over to him. Dean felt like he should lay down, or take his boots off or something, but what the hell were you supposed to do when an angel was coming over to slip you a supernatural roofie?

"Are you sure?" Castiel asked, standing in front of Dean, who nodded stiffly. Castiel wrapped his arm around Dean, placing a hand between his shoulder blades, and touched his forehead lightly with two fingers.

Instead of the immediate blackout Dean was expecting, it was a slower descent into sleep, the world slowly turning grey. He slumped back into Castiel's arm as the angel lowered him onto the bed.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean whispered, eyes half closed. If he hadn't known better, he'd say that the angel looked almost pained.

___

Despite waking up in his clothes with his booted feet hanging off the edge of the bed, Dean felt pretty well rested. He stretched and looked around, not seeing Castiel. He hadn't had any dreams last night, and he had the feeling that was the result of some sort of divine intervention. There was no food in the room and, trusting the angel to come find him later, Dean took a walk. It was nice to stretch his legs, and he remembered passing by a decent looking diner on the way into town.

Dean turned down the main road, which had the sluggish traffic and green sides of a small town road. The wind smelled more like grass than exhaust and the sun warmed his face.

The peaceful setting was disrupted by a fire truck pulling up in front of a building and at least six firemen coming out to hold what looked like a trampoline. People crowded around and were urged back by the firemen.

"It's a jumper," said a man by Dean, staring up at the top of a building. Dean followed his gaze, squinting against the sunlight. From so far away, the figure looked five inches tall. A familiar trenchcoat billowed from it's shoulders.

"Cas," Dean said, rolling his eyes. He pushed his way through the gathering crowd to the fire brigade.

"Sir," one of the firemen said, holding Dean back, "you can't go past this point."

"I know him," Dean said, pointing at Castiel. "And, trust me, he is not about to kill himself."

"You his friend?" the fireman asked.

"Kinda," Dean said. The fireman grabbed his bicep and hustled him over to the other firemen.

"We've got a friend here," he said, letting go of Dean as another fireman thrust a megaphone into his hands. "Talk him down, boy."

"What?" Dean asked. The fireman glared at him. Reluctantly, Dean brought the megaphone to his lips, then immediately pulled it back down. "He's gone."

"What?" the firemen asked, looking up at where Castiel used to be.

"He does that a lot, actually," Dean said, walking away from the crowd. They parted around him, all staring anxiously up at the roof of the building, waiting for Castiel to reappear.

"What are they looking at?" Castiel asked him, appearing at Dean's side as soon as he got away from the crowd.

"They thought you were going to kill yourself." Cas didn't ask any other questions, but Dean was sure he had some. Suicide wasn't something an angel could easily understand.

___

They were back on the road again, halfway to Jersey with a full tank of gas and enough food to keep Dean happy before the next rest stop. He tried the radio, and the first song that he heard was Zeppelin's Kashmir.

_All I see turns to brown/ As the sun burns the ground/ And my eyes fill with sand/ As I scan this wasted land-_

Dean turned the radio off.

___

The next morning they crossed the New Jersey state line.

"Doesn't look like hell to me," Dean said, peering out the window. Castiel didn't reply. Dean headed for Clifton.

___

Dean's first look at the town didn't quite convince him that there was a hell gate around, but the feel of it did. Clifton had a strange sort of static hum about it, the kind of noise that eventually blended into the background when you weren't paying attention, but still made you grind your teeth to block it out. It soaked into the car through shut windows and into the motel through shut doors, until Dean stopped noticing it, and it irritated him even more.

"Do you ever talk?" Dean snapped at Castiel after an hour of near silence, with only the TV and that horrible teeth grinding humming. "Honestly, Cas, we've been stuck together for the last week and you've barely said two words to me. Are you mute, or am I just that much lower than you tha-"

"Enough," Castiel said, voice low and powerful, cutting off Dean's arguments. The angel's eyes drilled into his own, one just that slightest bit darker than the other, practically fucking glowing with suppressed anger.

Dean never claimed no know when to stop pushing.

"No," Dean said, meeting Castiel's gaze and crossing his arms over his chest. Castiel's jaw tightened, just for a second, so that you'd never notice if you weren't looking, and he stepped off his bed, facing Dean down.

"Don't say that you are beneath me," Castiel said.

"Why? Because it's true?" Dean wasn't really sure what the point of demeaning himself was, except that he was enjoying himself, relishing the opportunity to sink his teeth into a fight. Castiel growled-- literally growled, low in his throat-- and, crossing the room faster than Dean could see, was suddenly right in front of him, hands meeting the wall on either side of Dean.

"Don't. Say. That," Castiel growled, saying every word separately. He was about Dean's height, a little shorter, even, but it still felt as if Castiel was towering over him. They were so close together, eyes locked, that the whole room seemed to condense around them, shrinking claustrophobically until he and Cas were pressed together in a staring contest.

Until Dean breathed loudly, raggedly, and the spell was broken, room back to it's normal size and Castiel stepped away from him, face expressionless again.

It felt like something important had just passed them by.


	4. Renegade

**AN: I'm so sorry it took me this long to update, but I'll start on the next bit right away!**

* * *

For once in his life, Dean was tired of _waiting_ to go to hell. Could they just go already?

Though he did see the importance of stocking up on supplies before they went, grocery shopping was not good for his nerves. Castiel said that the thing they needed to get a lot of was water, that they could do without too much food, if they had to, but water they needed. So, Dean and Cas were carrying big ass cardboard boxes filled with water bottles and practically filling the back seat with them, when Dean felt the first prickle on the back of his neck.

He turned to see a teenage girl, all black hair and piercings, staring at him. Dean stared back for a second, then continued on to the car.

The next prickle came as they finished loading roughly three tons of canned goods in next to the water, and a half-hunched old man glared at Dean out of the corner of his eye.

"Dean," Castiel asked softly, as they leaned in close to arrange stacks of boxes and cans.

"Yeah. I see them."

A cashier scowled at them through the window.

They climbed into the car, Dean told Castiel to put on his seatbelt. Castiel complied.

"Going somewhere, boys?" They must've figured it out or heard him, because the teenage girl walked out in front of them, standing in the middle of the road with her hips cocked, blocking their way out as the other demons circled around them. Her eyes turned black.

"Fuck," Dean muttered. The easiest way out would be to just run them over, but those were innocent people, dammit!

"Drive, Dean," Castiel said, looking straight forward.

"What, and hit the girl that thing's riding?"

"Trust me." It was a stupid idea. Dean revved the Impala. The demon girl didn't back down. "Go," Castiel said.

Dean slammed the gas pedal down, going hard and fast towards the demon, who still made no move to get out of the way. They were about to hit, about to slam into her at about sixty and splatter her over the windshield like a deer and kill the girl and-

The car left the ground.

Just took off like a fucking airplane, front tires first, then back. For one heart stopping second, they were completely in the air, Dean's breath catching in the back of his throat.

And then they landed bouncily on the other side of her, his car a bit shaky but apparently no worse for the wear. Dean gasped.

"Did you just make my car fly?" he asked, his brain feeling slightly numb towards the whole 'gravity not really being a problem' thing. He was most definitely in shock.

"Yes," Castiel said weakly. He looked drained, leaning back in his seat. Lifting a car straight up into the fucking air must have taken a lot out of him. Dean felt a hysterical little giggle in his throat, but pushed it back, because a high speed chase away from a whole fucking pack of demons was not a good time to have a panic attack and he was getting way too old for this shit.

"Don't do that again." Castiel nodded, but made no promises.

Dean rounded the corner, whipping the car around in a way that wouldn't be possible if anyone else was driving any other car. The demons may be magic, but Dean had spent his whole life in his car, unbuilt and rebuilt it so many times that inside it he was untouchable. Blood pounded in his ears as he drove.

"Where'm I goin', Cas?"

"The Passaic." Dean knew where the river was, with dozens of roadmaps in the glovebox and a week to study them on the way there.

Dean just barely avoided hitting a tree, then skidding off the road and right back on as he pulled onto the dirt road leading to the Passaic river hell gate. Dean slowed the car, trying to navigate the path.

"Fuck," Dean said. "It's too narrow."

"Then we walk," Castiel said, despite looking way to weak to even _think_ about walking in the next few days. Apparently, looks weren't too important when it came to angels, and Cas climbed out of the car, slower than usual, but steady. He pulled the seat back and tore open one of the boxes and started stuffing his trenchcoat pockets with plastic water bottles. Dean got up and followed his example, sticking one in each of his jacket pockets.

Dean patted the hood of the car, saying goodbye to the vehicle that had just saved their lives and then had to be left in the woods. He sighed and followed Castiel.

___

About half an hour hike into the woods, Castiel slumped against a tree.

"You okay, Cas?" Dean asked.

"I am... tired," Castiel said, sliding down the trunk, kneeling at the foot of the tree. Well, that's what he got for throwing a goddamn car into the air, but Dean didn't think it would be very helpful to point that out, while they were being chased by demons. It was motivation time.

"C'mon, we gotta go," Dean said, placing himself directly in front of Castiel. The angel glared at him wearily. Dean held out his hand, and Castiel stared at it like it was an alien life form, which, to an angel, it kind of was.

"Dude," Dean said, shaking his hand once. Cas sighed and grabbed it, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet. "I'll carry the water, you keep walking."

Cas shook his head again, but shrugged off his coat and handed it to Dean. The thing weighed at least twenty pounds, pockets stuffed to bursting, but Dean put it on without complaint. The cuffs covered his hands to the knuckle.

___

Night fell and they were still walking.

"Cas, since when does Jersey have massive woods like this?"

"We are not in New Jersey," Castiel said.

"Then where the hell are we?"

"We are near hell."

___

The actual hell gate was a cave at the mouth of the river, and they reached it at what Dean could only assume was one in the morning. He still wore Castiel's trenchcoat, and it wore heavy on his shoulders, more than it should have.

Castiel stood next to him, where he had stopped as they approached the hell gate. The angel was glowing. Well, not glowing like a lamp glowing, but glowing in the way that his skin was at least three shades lighter than when they were on the other side of the hell gate's mojo and Dean could see him clearly even in the dark.

They took cautious steps towards the gate, Dean feeling a weird energy pushing him back, making every movement heavy, like he was under water.

"The seals are weakening," Castiel said abruptly.

"What make you say that?" Dean asked.

"We should not be able to feel this. It is unnatural." Dean wanted to point out that an angel inhabiting someone else's body was also somewhat unnatural, but stopped himself.

Something moved behind them. Never a good sign.

"Cas..." Dean said warningly. Castiel turned to look at him, face light in the dark, and nodded slightly.

The woods around them rustled and snapped with the soft sound of movement. Dean slowly moved closer to Castiel, standing at his side.

"What do we do?" he asked.

"Take my hand," the angel said, head still, but eyes scanning the foliage nervously. Dean hesitated for a second, because Dean Winchester does not hold hands, especially with guys, but wrapped his hand around Castiel's when the angel brushed their palms together. "Close your eyes." Dean complied, tightening his grip on Cas' hand.

"Now what?"

"Do not open them."

The inside of Dean's eyelids lightened, turning from pitch black to dark red, from red to pink, from pink to almost blinding white as a wave of heat washed over him. Castiel's hand went loose in his. Demons-- at least he thought they were demons, he had no clue with his eyes shut-- screamed in agony, their eyes burning out as they saw Castiel's true form.

Then the heat disappeared as Castiel's hand drew tight on his again. Dean opened his eyes slowly, dropping Cas' hand. By a quick count, there were eight dead demons laying around them, hands raised to claw at their ruined eyes.

Dean stepped over the nearest body, the teenage girl from the supermarket, and towards the cave.

It figured that the angel who had dragged him out of hell was the one accompanying him back in.


End file.
